


Pushing the Boundaries

by DefinitelyNotBees



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy is a Tease, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Harry Isn’t Completely Oblivious For Once, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Minor Injuries, Minor Original Character(s), Not Epilogue Compliant, Or Maybe That’s Just Me Sticking Up For Him, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Sassy Draco Malfoy, and a goddess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21564040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitelyNotBees/pseuds/DefinitelyNotBees
Summary: Powerful!Harry comes to terms with his unprecedented magical strength and his experiences in the war. Draco is swept along for the ride. Both boys attempt to find their roles in the new world whilst battlingsexuality crisesunexpected feelings. Enjoy a lot of breaking of magical rules because that’s what Harry does best.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 161





	1. Reparations

In the immediate aftermath of the war, Harry isolates himself. He can’t help it - he needs space to breathe. Thoughts swirl in his head, vying for attention. 

People want to be near him and congratulate him. Harry doesn’t know how he feels - but ‘overwhelmed’ describes it pretty damn well. He needs quiet, which is impossible with the many voices all competing for attention. When a hand grabs his sleeve to pull him closer, his tolerance runs out. He looks the clamouring reporters and admirers in the eye and vanishes, without a spell or a wand. His magic is completely attuned to his needs: if only he had paused to think of the consequences of this little outburst. In the back of his mind, he knows he will be hounded - wordless _and_ wandless magic? He can see the news headings now. They’ll say, ‘only Dark Wizards are capable of such deeds!’ and he’ll be feared for the rest of his life. 

Deciding there won’t be anyone in the Forbidden Forest, Harry sets off. The trees don’t look quite as foreboding as they used to: nothing does; not since he died. However, he soon finds that even the forest cannot provide the respite he is craving since memories of the war are coming tumbling back. The tragedies he has faced are starting to sink in. He begins to shake. His magic echoes his unsettled state, it feels odd… jagged. 

When he snapped he Elder wand, his magic felt alive. Rejuvenated. Harry didn't register it at the time, overwhelmed as he was with having finally won the war. 

Currently, that power is making itself known. His magic is restless; it needs to be doing something. 

Unexpectedly, it then shifts around his body and starts to heal all the wounds it comes across. Harry, who was never very good at healing spells, is stunned into quiet admiration. 

Fueled by gleeful curiosity, Harry funnels his magic into healing a tree that was felled by one of the giants. He sends his magic into it, and he can see and feel the tendrils of golden light pulling the tree back together. It fits every individual piece of bark back together, without so much as a line where the halves had separated. He regards his power with newfound respect. He knows he’s capable of more still. 

An owl hoots nearby and breaks Harry’s concentration. Harry hadn’t noticed the darkness creeping in, too concentrated on his magic. Had he subconsciously been supplementing his eyesight? Curious, he takes off his glasses. He feels a rush of magic to his eyes the surroundings gradually come into focus. 

As intriguing as this is, Harry's body is tired. He can’t remember the last decent sleep he got, and the influx of power has left him physically and mentally drained. He sinks to the forest floor to sleep, lazily casting a reinforced Shield charm.

  
  


Green light clouds his vision as Harry shoots awake. For a few terrifying seconds, Harry is looking his death in the eye again, staring down the Killing Curse. He shakes his head to rid himself of the remnants of his fragmented sleep. When he surfaces fully from the memories of the nightmares, he realises his shield is still up. That’s unheard of - surely it should have dissipated by now. Harry wastes no further time and dives straight into exploring his magic. Harry being Harry, he gives himself a challenge and tasks himself to repairing Hogwarts. He Disillusions himself and walks back into the caste. 

Hogwarts is truly in ruins. The gaping holes in the walls affect him deeply; this is his home, and a home should be safe. 

He walks into the castle, remaining undetected. He tries to heal any visible wounds on the people he passes, then not so visible when he realises he can. Their gaunt faces gradually filling with happiness is reward enough for the Boy Who Lived. Harry walks on. 

He debates going to the Great Hall, where all the injured and passed on are being treated or mourned, but decides against it. He isn’t ready to face the grieving families knowing he could maybe have stopped the war sooner. He doesn’t yet know where he fits in in terms of Ron and Hermione’s fledgeling relationship. When there are no more people in the corridors he walks through, he starts to heal Hogwarts and help it to heal itself. His magic can sense it’s grief and disarray. The castle lends him some strength, sensing he’s intent on rebuilding. While he’s healing the castle one brick at a time, he realises that with the strength the castle has given him, he can repair whole sections of the walls at a time. It’s cathartic. Shattered segments are moulded together again under his enraptured gaze. 

Gradually, he becomes aware that he’s crying. While his mind surfaces from the challenge he has taken on, the magic surrounding his body gains a red hue. The reparations process stops. His extremities feel numb. 

His magic is feeding off of his body to maintain enough energy for the immense feats it is performing. It desires power, it desires challenges. He slowly replaces the magic into his body and regains feeling. How? 

_No more feeding from me, got it?_ , he says firmly to himself. Quickly, embarrassment takes a hold - he’s speaking to himself now apparently - and he blushes. He’s glad Ron wasn’t around to witness that. 

The feeling of impatience doesn’t go away though, he needs more. He and his magic are one. He needs what it needs. 

He suddenly refocuses his magic on the castle. It rejoices. The walls are repaired section by section, the flagstones glued back together by the strength of his magic. The castle is making things easier for him; people do not cross his path. His mind calms somewhat, his rational mind coming back into the fore. Hours fly by. 

Harry comes across a person lying prone in an ill-used corridor. His magic reaches out to assess and revive. It determines that there is no pulse: the brain is dead. Harry moves closer. Any sympathy or grief he felt vanishes - the body is cloaked in a Death Eater robe. Overcome by a sudden fit of anger, Harry drains the body of its feeble residual magic. The body twitches as its magical core is depleted. Harry has no sympathy, merely curiosity as to how his magic will react to the absorption of someone else's power. With ease, apparently, as the cold, stolen magic quickly blends with his own. 

The body does, though, remind him of the pointless killing that took place. That he took part in. 

His magic reflects his grief, taking the form of a hurricane whipping around his body. This only stirs up his anguish rather than settling his mind. Harry labours under the onslaught of grief and misery. 

His magic, confused by the volume and variety of his thoughts, directs itself instead towards healing. The swirling mass dissipates and he feels a tugging in his navel. He is led through the corridor. As he rounds a corner, he sees where the healing magic is directed. Towards one Draco Malfoy, who lies curled up amongst the rubble. 

He stares listlessly into the middle distance, tear tracks running down his face. Harry stops. His magic stops, confused. It yearns to heal the broken boy. Why won’t Harry let it? Because Malfoy doesn’t deserve it, that’s why! He almost got many of his friends killed in their sixth year! 

Malfoy suddenly turns his head towards a now-visible Harry, who has cancelled his Disillusionment charm. If possible, he seems to slump further. His magic is listless, pooling uselessly around his navel. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy was having difficulty accessing his magic, as it was buried deep inside his body. Harry pities him, but it doesn’t cancel out the weight of the boy’s actions. 

His magic decides for him and reaches out to engulf Malfoy. Malfoy scrambles away from him, looking horrified at the sensation. Harry feels the reverberation of his pain: there aren't any glaring wounds, he's mostly been mentally affected. He senses the Cruciatus curse. He can empathise. His magic labours to help his mind, insistent when Malfoy continues moving away. Harry walks forwards slowly. He supposes he must look a bit terrifying, tendrils of magic weaving in and out without even a wand to conduct them. Malfoy halts as he reaches the section of the corridor that Harry hasn’t gotten to repair yet. He can go no further. He turns around slowly and prepares to fight, not accepting his death at the hands of the Golden Boy. Harry’s magic takes control and makes him stop, a subconscious body bind. 

Harry doesn’t really want Malfoy terrified of him, so he sits down. He can’t think of anything else. 

“It’s trying to help you.” He calls out, rather redundantly. Malfoy tries to open his mouth to snap a response but presumably thinks better of it. Harry drops the body bind.

He sighs. “Alright, Potter. Do your worst.” Harry’s magic doesn’t even wait for the sentence to finish before it surrounds him, seeping into his every pore and healing everything it comes across. Malfoy shudders. The half-formed sneer falls from his face. The sensation is like heat. It’s intense, it’s almost too much. Harry can see the gold sandstorm of his magic sweeping in and around Malfoy's stiffened form. 

Then it recedes, and Malfoy stands taller. Harry droops slightly - he'd been focusing on not overloading Malfoy. His magic is not quite as restless as before. Attempting to heal Malfoy's mind had taken considerable effort. His magic had to be subtle and precise - a lot more thought was required than when he’d been testing how easily he could repair the castle. In contrast, Malfoy’s magic is now full of life, running freely throughout his body. Its colour is reflecting his newfound vivacity: it has changed drastically, from a murky grey to an icy blue. 

Malfoy makes fleeting eye contact. “Thanks,” he says, consciously unclenching his jaw. Harry shrugs. He almost didn’t heal him after all. Harry walks around him and pieces the flagstones in the floor back together as he goes. This time, the process is less rushed. He is taking care to ensure that everything is exactly as it was. As such, he’s only a few meters ahead of Malfoy when he says snidely, “You’ll need to do more than that to fix Hogwarts. Honestly, do you know anything?” Harry whirls around. 

“Is that so? Remind me what you’re doing to make amends for the mess _your_ side made. Go ahead, Malfoy,” Harry spits. Malfoy is silent for a minute. 

“Fuck,” he says, without anger. Harry stands in astounded silence. Malfoy, speechless? Ineloquent? _What?_ “Potter, you’ve misunderstood. I simply meant that the spellwork imbued in the castle must also be paid attention to.” 

Harry is the one at a loss for words now. “Oh. Er, thanks,” he says. He is reminded fondly of Hermione’s lectures about his refusal to read ‘Hogwarts: A History’. Unsure of anything else to say, Harry turns again to the walls and investigates the magic signatures within. At first glance, he had disregarded the weak, disconnected magic that barely held the bricks together. Now he could sense how the magic yearned to be strong again. It needed purpose, it wanted to become whole again. 

Harry and his magic were enthralled. 

He began, instantly feeding power into the floors, walls, and the roof. He took care not to bombard the weakened structure but to delicately weave the strings of magic back together. It was a slow process but one he found himself enjoying immensely. Soft gold strands of magic spider out from where the stream enters the stones. He reaches out to try and better channel his power. He feels a tingling in his fingers again. This time, it doesn’t feel malicious - he feels the magic working with him instead of draining him. 

However, Harry is nearing exhaustion. He is so focused on the wall right in front of him that he fails to notice the strain of his magic spreading at an alarming rate throughout the castle. His mind is wrapped in the work. Whole corridors are being repaired, not just the one he stands in. The passing of time goes unnoticed by Harry, captured as he is by the magic. It is Malfoy who eventually tears his eyes away from the awe-inspiring event before him and notices how Harry’s eyes are closing, how his movements are getting clumsier and are slowing. 

“Potter, give it a rest. You’re falling asleep in front of my very eyes.” Malfoy intones. Harry, startled, looks over at him. His magic has spread across multiple floors. As much as he is loath to pausing the reparations, it’s a bit too much. Instantly, he retracts his power from the castle. He stumbles due to the magnitude of magic that is instantly absorbed back into him. It hums in his veins. Black spots clear from the edges of his vision. 

Only then does he realise Malfoy is right: he _is_ tired. He sits down, leaning against the wall like Malfoy is doing just a few meters away. Tucking his legs in close, he tries not to think of the scarring events of the day before. His efforts, though, are fruitless. 

He can hear the screams. The injuries and blood spilt sit waiting behind his eyes every time they close. 

Once more he is walking towards his death. The grim acceptance of his fate washes over him again. He is drowning, unable to pull free from memories no one should ever be subjected to. 

Bitter tears fall. His sobs are quiet; he is well aware that his once-enemy sits only metres to his left. His magic is turbulent, shifting restlessly around his motionless form. The storm of magic surrounding him has become murky and black, isolating him from his surroundings. His feelings of helplessness and terror are magnified. 

He’s too tired. Too tired to have to deal with any of this. He’d rather curl up on the floor and sleep. Curling up, he achieves, but sleep is more elusive. The deafening noises from the war just won’t subside. 

The sound of gentle crying lifts his thoughts from their vicious cycle. Malfoy is crying. Waves of guilt wash over him as he is reminded of their ill-fated duel. Even so, the sound of Malfoy crying eases him out of his head and back into the present. Just before he descends into sleep, he sends a Cushioning charm over to a still-sobbing Malfoy. His thoughts are slipping away when he dimly recognises one being cast in return.


	2. Leaps and Bounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy turns out not to be a prick - who'd have guessed? He accepts Harry's offer of friendship and accompanies him on the journey to explore his magic. Meanwhile, Harry comes to realise that not everyone is as forgiving as he is. Will his realisation arrive in time to prevent a potentially deadly face-off?

“Potter!”

Harry drifts into consciousness. Slowly, then all at once. He scrambles to sit up, reaching for his wand - he recognises that voice. Several things come to his attention at once: memories of the war; that he no longer needs his wand for magic; and that Malfoy is looking just as bedraggled as he feels.

“Merlin, Potter, get up!” Malfoy hisses. Harry is confused, but then he senses the pulsating waves of magic coming from a group of people rounding the corner. Instinctively, he throws up the strongest shield either of them have ever come across. 

The group walk briskly into view. They make no visible signs that they have seen himself or Malfoy. Malfoy lifts a brow. Are they… invisible? 

Malfoy suddenly springs beside Harry, a look of panic taking over his face. “Do not lift that shield. Potter,” he pauses to inhale sharply, “please.” His whispered plea makes little sense in Harry’s sleep-addled brain. Why would he not want the shield lifted? The group are on the Light side. Surely they mean no harm. 

Oh. 

Malfoy is a Death Eater. 

Hold on, why is Harry protecting him? Well, Malfoy did sort of help him to repair bits of the castle, he supposes. Also, he’s not really in a position to harm anyone, flattened against the wall in fright. Harry keeps the shield active. 

The group are seconds away when Harry joins him in pressing himself against the wall. They’re close enough to see the light sheen of sweat on the faces of Dean Thomas, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and an Auror whom Harry dimly recognises. They pass the concealed teenagers and slow down, having clearly seen how damaged the corridor in front of them is. They turn around and begin to walk back.

Suddenly, the Auror’s eyes narrow. “Wands out,” she says lowly. Kingsley seems to come to the same conclusion a beat later, drawing his own. 

“Hominem Revelio!” Kingsley yells, attempting to reveal any dark intruders. Harry instinctively tightens the shield. The effect is almost as strong as the wards on 13 Grimmauld Place, one of the most powerfully disguised residences in magical Britain. Malfoy, who is unaware of Harry’s precaution, goes white and stops breathing. Kingsley announces them to be alone. Dean and the Auror, however, do not drop their wands. 

The Auror hisses under her breath, something about an extremely powerful magical signature. 

Harry silently curses, hastily covering his tracks. 

The Auror’s eyes widen. “Kingsley. Dean. Do not lower your guards,” her voice lowers to a whisper. “The signature has just been masked. We are not alone.” 

Kingsley immediately begins casting anti-shield charms. Dean, whose knowledge of concealment spells is considerable after his experience in the war, joins him. 

Harry sizes up his chances, takes one look at Malfoy, and they bolt simultaneously away. 

He can feel magic lashing against his shield, stripping it layer by layer. Harry's magic, veritably fizzing with excitement, replenishes the shield twofold for every layer that is broken.

Harry holds his ward and constantly masks their trail. The group aren’t able to hear the pounding of footsteps on their on the slabs, thanks to the strength of Harry’s wards. Then, Malfoy slows to a stop. 

“Potter. Listen. You don’t want to be fighting them, not for me. So, make them forget they encountered anyone.” Sensing Harry’s reluctance, he continues, “Do you want them spreading the word of another dark wizard? You’re not a threat. Erase their memories,” Malfoy says, an intense look on his face. Harry stops walking. He sizes Malfoy up, assessing his possible motives. There is nothing behind his eyes except fear, and… possibly awe? Harry makes his decision. 

He faces the trio. There are no visible or audible signs of his spell casting when their eyes glaze over and their wand arms lower. Harry flushes slightly, sensing Malfoy’s looks of approval. He walks away, towards the sections of the castle he’d already repaired. 

His magic, replenished from the (limited) sleep he’d achieved, sings in his veins again. Malfoy falls into step beside him. 

“So, Potter, when did-” Malfoy is cut off by a tired interjection from his accomplice. 

“Harry. It’s just Harry. We’ve saved each other’s lives, we might as well stop the last names thing,” Harry mutters. Malf- no, Draco blinks, then seamlessly continues. Must be the pureblood training. 

“When did you start perfecting wandless magic?” Draco asks. 

“Er, I dunno. After I died maybe?” Harry hazards a guess. Draco is speechless again. Inwardly, Harry is pleased - he’s managed that twice now. Draco makes an uncharacteristic spluttering noise, so Harry spares him the effort and answers the unsaid question. “I had to get killed to allow Voldemort to be killed. I was lucky though, I got to choose to come back.” 

Harry is proud of himself for not letting out any of the bitterness that he still feels towards Dumbledore. He glances at Draco who looks deep in thought. He dropped quite the bombshell there, to be fair to him. 

“You sound remarkably blasé for someone who died days ago, do you not think?” Draco remarks. Harry’s brows furrow. 

“Haven’t had much time to let it sink in, come to think of it,” he says. If he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he hasn’t let himself. Draco, sensing his discomfort, reverts quickly back to discussing magic. 

“What else are you capable of? As much as I loathe to admit it, I can feel your power from here.” 

Inwardly, Harry preens. His curiosity is piqued as Draco’s question sinks in. Why hasn’t he explored his magic to the limit? Come to think of it, _is_ there a limit? Harry grins. 

Harry grabs Draco’s bicep and Apparates them. He tamps down the sickening feeling that comes from being squeezed through space and lands neatly on the floor a few metres in front of them. He smiles - he wasn’t sure he was going to manage to do that. As Harry is congratulating himself, he suddenly realises he’s still holding onto Draco’s arm. He drops it hurriedly. Draco turns and looks at him with a wicked grin. 

“I’ve always wanted to Apparate in here, you know. The Vanishing Cabinet Fiasco could have been avoided…” Draco catches Harry’s frown. “Sorry. I do regret my actions if that’s any consolation,” he placates. Harry, satisfied for the moment, nods and turns away to see what else he can do. 

Draco’s stomach growls suddenly. “That’ll be my appetite coming back,” he says, chuckling softly. “When the Dark Lord lurks around every corner of one’s home, one tends to find that eating falls quickly on one’s list of priorities.” 

Harry frowns. Draco’s harrowing wartime experiences are matching his own more and more by the hour. He sneaks a peek at Draco, unsure of whether to offer comfort and how. Then, he decides the best idea is to give him food. He and Ron had resolved their petty arguments through food offerings many a time, after all. “So, er, say you could eat anything you wanted, what would you like?” Harry asks, aiming for subtlety. Draco expertly suppresses a grin. 

Holding out his arm for the taking, he says, “Take us to the kitchens, Harry.” 

Harry’s traitorous heart skips a beat as he obliges, reaching out for the proffered arm. 


	3. A Connection is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco cobble together a meal in the kitchens. Laughs are had, mainly at Harry's expense as per usual. There's a bonding moment at the end that unearths some feelings Harry was hitherto unaware of, so stick around for that ;)

The kitchens are deserted. Harry goes to the cupboards and selects the ingredients for a full English breakfast. He leaves them all out and looks at them, stumped. Harry can’t find an oven. Malfoy is similarly at a loss. Harry, having had lots of experience cooking for his relatives, assures Draco that he knows how to make a full English breakfast, he’s just never had to do it without a hob. 

When he turns around, Draco is looking flabbergasted.

“What did you just say?”

Harry considers the cause of the confusion. Apparently, he said the last bit out loud. 

“Er, a hob? It’s how we cook, the muggle way. I’ve not had much practice with wizard cooking.”

Draco, bemused, sits down primly at a table. 

Harry returns to the task at hand. Firstly, there is the issue of preparing the food. He rummages around the cupboards and finds stacks upon stacks of mixing bowls. He cannot, however, find any plates. He turns to ask Draco if he has seen any. 

Draco is standing next to a transparent cupboard door that clearly has plates galore. He arches a brow and smirks.

“These what you were looking for, Potter?” 

Harry glares. No one outshines him at cooking, thank you very much! Even if it is just locating dishes. He harrumphs and twirls around. He freezes - that was very Draco of him. Oh, Merlin, he’s catching the Slytherin flair for dramatics.

Eventually, he has the eggs sizzling away nicely and the butter has been located, there is just the issue of the toast. Harry has settled instead with eggs on toast, having decided hash browns and other trimmings were a little too much trouble. For the eggs in the frying pan, Harry only has to do a localised warming charm. When it comes to the toast, however, Harry has to get inventive. He takes out a piece of sliced bread and, lobbing it in the air, casts another warming charm, this one significantly more powerful. His magic leaps at the chance to display its abilities and jumps out of him at full force.

Harry looks at the charred and smoking toast on the floor. He then slowly turns around to see Draco cracking up with laughter on the floor. Draco had taken one look at his singed eyebrows and collapsed into merriment. Harry has to laugh. It isn’t often he sees Draco laughing properly, without so much as a sneer or smirk. Usually, he laughs at Harry. Harry feels the need to point out that for the first time, Draco is laughing _with_ him. It feels oddly good.

Harry decides to simply lay the bread down on the countertop and heat it up gradually. It works perfectly, of course, and he kicks himself for not thinking of that in the first place. Draco, who has finally stopped laughing, saunters over to inspect more closely what is going on.

“I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. Being around you is an easy way to laugh again.” Draco says. Then he blushes.

“I meant it’s easy to laugh at you, Potter, not that you’re funny! You aren’t.” Draco says, the tips of his ears burning. He retreats, slinking back over to his table, although not before he hears Harry chuckle. He curses internally. His pride may never recover. 

Harry, who is still chuckling infuriatingly, finishes up and takes the eggs on toast to the table. Draco notices Harry has given himself the burnt one. Inner Draco immediately begins speculating as to the reasons why. Could it be... that Harry had wanted him to have the nicest one? 

His mind reels. Harry gave him the nicest one! On purpose! Draco can’t help smiling.

Harry notices and stops giggling abruptly. “It’s really nice seeing you like this,” he says. His eyes widen before he hastens to clarify, “I mean seeing you happy. Erm,” he tails off. 

Draco sneaks a peek at Harry and notices that Harry sports a slight blush as well. He doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Their eggs are eaten amidst comfortable chatter. When they finish, Harry is deep into the hilarious regaling of the times of old when Seamus Finnigan would tirelessly try to turn his water into wine. Draco is chortling quietly, a sparkle in his eyes and colour in his cheeks. Harry reaches the pinnacle of the story. He gets a tad animated and promptly vanishes the empty plates. He leaps up. 

“Merlin’s arse! I got carried away,” he says in dismay. Draco laughs.

“Well Harry, there I was, thinking you’re an all-powerful wizard and you can’t even find a few plates. Pathetic.” Draco says, haughtily. Momentarily, Harry is affronted, until he catches Draco’s teasing smile. Either way, a challenge is a challenge - and when has Harry ever backed down from anything? 

Harry isn’t going to let the small fact that no one has managed to recover vanished items before stop him. He closes his eyes and lets his magic swell. He imagines the lost dishes, the shape of them, exactly where they were. His magic fills the outline of them as he casts an “ _Accio!_ ” to summon the plates. A tense minute passes. 

Then: “Merlin,” Draco mutters. 

The plates have returned, complete with crumbs and all. Harry turns to him and power glints in his eyes. 

“It's like the magic replaces itself as soon as I use it,” Harry muses. Then he brightens: “I told you I never back down!” Harry closes his eyes and enjoys the satisfaction he feels from his magic.

Draco doesn’t even tell Harry he didn’t actually say that he’s in such a state of shock. “How did you…” he asks eventually. 

He suddenly sees that Harry’s hands are glowing gold. He reaches out to touch them. They’re warm, and more calloused than his own. The level of magic stored currently in his palms makes them feel almost fuzzy. Harry suddenly notices the feeling of another holding his hand. He does a double-take but doesn’t end the contact. He looks at Draco who is still inspecting the magic present in his hands. Harry sends a little of his magic through their point of contact.

Draco’s head snaps up. It’s the oddest feeling: Harry senses his magic seeking out Draco’s. The moment their powers collide is a moment Harry is certain he will never forget. 

The jolt that runs through him is incredible; warming, familiar. Harry feels his magic jumping for joy at the chance to explore Draco’s own.

“Harry…” Draco murmurs, looking again at the magic flowing between their hands. He shivers. “For someone so awful at Occlumency and other tasks involving concentration, you have a lot of control of your power. It’s,” he pauses, “thrilling, honestly.” Draco looks embarrassed, like that last bit shouldn't have come out. 

Harry takes it as a compliment. _Draco thinks he’s thrilling?_

He suddenly gets a flashback to Oliver Wood. All through their fifth year he’d been plagued by thoughts of the Quidditch captain, deep in concentration and bent over on his broomstick. _Merlin, so_ that’s _what that was._ He’d put his feelings down to admiration alone. Harry flushes. 

Draco’s eyes suddenly meet his. “Harry, what are you thinking about?” Harry panics and retracts his magic. The corners of Draco’s mouth twitch. “Your magic reacted strongly, whatever it was,” he says, the picture of innocence. Harry scowls and drops his hands. He had felt the beginnings of excitement in his navel and guessed Draco must have felt it too. 

After a pregnant pause, Draco finds the courage to apologise for one of the first times in his life. “Harry, I sincerely apologise. I shouldn’t pry,” he says. 

“Yeah. I guess it wasn’t your fault. It’s just that I was reminded of my Occlumency lessons, which were bloody awful. Snape never asked if he was allowed to see anything,” Harry says, deep in thought. Draco stands still. 

He’s rewarded with a tentative hand interlacing with his own. Harry’s hand is clumsy but the meaning is clear. He’s forgiven.

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry says quietly, some minutes later. 

They hold hands and stay where they are. The comfortable silence isn’t nearly as stifling as it used to be for both men. Their minds are ever-so-slowly healing. For now, at least, they’re happy.


	4. Fresh Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts can offer nothing but pain for Harry and Draco both. A much-needed change in atmosphere is provided in the one and only Grimmauld Place. Banter and grovelling ensue, with Draco revealing a keen eye for interior design.

The frigid air outside the kitchens makes Draco shiver. Harry is lost in thought as they wander out hand in hand. They have left their cocoon and the feeling of safety that developed within it. The kitchens had escaped the fighting entirely unscathed, which makes the dust lingering in the rest of the castle more prominent. 

Harry is noticeably troubled by the devastation that surrounds them. His magic is antsy and his palm is clammy. 

Harry half-heartedly calls on his magic to begin repairing the castle again but quickly abandons the idea. 

“I don’t know what to do. My purpose has only ever been to defeat Voldemort and now that’s gone. I don’t want to be a bloody poster boy for the Ministry,” says Harry, tugging frustratedly at his sleeve. 

Draco, who prides himself on his conversational skills, doesn’t know what to say. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. He squeezes Harry’s hand to remind him that they’re facing the world together. 

“Harry, you don’t have to do anything for anyone right now. You’ve killed the Dark Lo- Voldemort, you don’t owe them anything.” Draco says, hoping he’s said the right thing. Harry says nothing. It could be Draco‘s imagination, but Harry's grip on his hand is infinitesimally tighter. 

Harry’s back suddenly straightens from his slouch. 

“Do you have anywhere, in particular, you need to be?” He asks. Draco blinks at the sudden change in demeanour but shakes his head. Harry’s patented boyish grin spreads across his face. “Close your eyes.” Draco does, with a fluttering feeling in his stomach that he would later deny. 

Seconds later, Draco feels the familiar tugging in his stomach that comes with Apparition. Disappointment washes over him - he had naively thought he had been asked to close his eyes for a more romantic reason. 

The air where they are is musty and stagnant. There is something, however, about the magical signature that is imbued within the place that reminds him of Malfoy Manor. He cracks one eye open and regrets it immediately when a terrifying dust figure rises from the gloom. He shrinks behind Harry and prays fervently that Harry knows what he’s doing. 

Harry does seem to know what he’s doing, to give him credit. He simply banishes the creature with a wave of his hand. Draco is suddenly pulled along and stumbles, having firmly closed his eyes again. Harry turns and chuckles. 

“You can open your eyes, you know,” he says. 

“Communication is always appreciated,” Draco huffs. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. A ‘Lumos’ charm would ruin the old fashioned feel of the place, so he makes do. He steps quickly after Harry along the narrow corridor. 

“Leave this house!” Screeches a portrait on the wall. Draco jumps and screams right back at it. Harry rumbles a laugh beside him. He silences the portrait with another flick of his hand, which had moved onto screeching about tainted bloodlines. 

“Welcome to Grimmauld Place, the home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. That there is the lovely Great Aunt Wallaburga, a blood purism fanatic,” Harry finishes with relish. 

Once Draco gets over the shock, he finds his manners. 

“How do you do,” he says grandly, inclining his head towards the woman in the portrait. Her eyes flick to him for the first time. Draco looks at Harry and silently asks him to remove the silencing charm. Harry complies. 

“A Malfoy, eh? How lovely. You wouldn’t believe the standard of the company I am forced to keep nowadays, blood traitors and mudbl-” she is cut off by Harry’s swift renewal of the charm. 

“That’s quite enough of her, don’t you think?” He says. Draco laughs and squeezes his hand. 

“She provided me with quite the warm welcome, so we will have to agree to disagree. Won’t you give me a tour?” 

Harry nods and they explore the ancient house together. Harry points out the rooms of each of the previous inhabitants and frequently invites Draco to critique the decor. At first, Draco holds back, but within no time at all, he is pointing out the mediocre quality of the woodwork and his being less than impressed with the quality of the gold in the Black family teacups. Nothing escapes his critiquing eye, which Harry is openly amused by. 

“I would humbly suggest,” says Draco, “that you completely redo the wallpaper. That shade really hasn’t aged well. I think we would both agree that those curtains also need to go. Sooner rather than later, I would recommend.” 

Harry is guffawing by this point. He is so full of mirth that he completely misses Draco’s slight annoyance at his ‘suggestions’ going ignored. That is until Draco puts his hands firmly on his hips. Harry sobers up immediately. 

“I was listening,” he hastily placates. “The curtains? Consider them gone.” Harry sweeps a hand in the direction of the curtains. The soft golden hues of the sunrise over London immediately fill the room. 

Draco’s hands have not left his hips, however, which Harry takes as a sign. 

“You were right, that’s much better. What would you say about the lampshade over there?” Harry asks, with only a hint of desperation. 

Harry has had a lot of practice grovelling, mainly to Hermione after he or Ron accidentally insulted S.P.E.W, her project to increase awareness about the plight of house-elves. Draco lifts an eyebrow suspiciously but turns to inspect said lampshade. Harry breathes a silent sigh of relief. 

  


They finish the tour and end up in the kitchen. Harry suddenly starts fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“Er, I was wondering if you would be happy to stay here for a while, with me,” asks Harry tentatively. Draco’s eyes look misty as he turns away. Harry’s heart drops. "I just thought, you know, there isn't anyone who will hunt you down in here..." he mumbles.

Draco takes a deep breath, faces Harry again, and nods. Such is Harry's glee that he beams and pulls him in for a hug. 

Draco starts, then eases into the hug and wraps his arms around Harry. 

“A new start sounds nice,” Draco says. Harry’s smile softens as he pulls away slowly. 

“Now _that_ I can do.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this and deciding which rules of magic to break and which ones to steer clear of. All I want is for Harry and Draco to be happy and I will gladly ignore canon in order to achieve this.
> 
> For those interested, smut for these two has been posted in a separate work. Just so I can keep this T-rated ;) https://archiveofourown.org/works/21784069 
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms so feel free to leave a comment. Kudos are equally welcome :)
> 
> Love,  
> DefinitelyNotBees xx


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